


Accountability Measures

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fisting, Fantasizing, M/M, POV First Person, Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: Night guard Naoto is totally inlovelust with accountant robot Jii.Jii, however, has not the slightest clue how Naoto really feels.
Relationships: Male Accountant Robot/Male Night Guard Who Works For Same Company, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Accountability Measures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soarc/gifts).



My wristphone flashed violet and played a cheerful, seven-second tune. It’s an antique, and the other night guards always give me looks when they hear it chime every quarter-hour, but I love it regardless.

“Well, Jii, looks like it’s time for me to clock out,” I said.

“Yes, it is. Have a good morning, Naoto,” my favorite GSR-8 behind the counter replied. His eight hands never stopped their precise, purposeful motions, not even to exchange pleasantries to me.

I waited to see if Jii had anything more to say. He didn’t, alas; he was all business. I shrugged inwardly, repressed a sigh, and began the long march back to Security Services HQ.

The post-global economy is a funny thing for folks on the lower rungs. The less specialized the expertise you have, the better your job prospects. Need a security guard for your on-site service operations to deter would-be trespassers and make sure nothing explodes? Hire a human—they’re cheaper. But if you need a customer-facing financial records specialist? Then you should buy a robot—they’re cheaper; they work 24/7; and you don’t have to pay them. Efficient cost-cutting means fatter dividends for the fat-cat shareholders, and if there’s someone J.P. Morgan Stanley Chase Schwab Bank cares about, that would be their shareholders. Jii, they just need to keep up and running. And when the bank bothers to consider me, which isn’t very often, let’s be real, it’s usually to threaten to cut my pay. They basically dare me to try my luck on the execrable excuse for a job market in this country, knowing damn full well that I’ll think less money from them is still infinitely better than no money from anybody.

They don’t know _why_ I’ll think that, though, and to be honest, most people don’t really want to know. I mean, if _you_ were head over heels in lust with an 8th generation General Services Robot, would you go around proclaiming it to the world? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

I’ve heard people say that GSRs look like some sort of five-foot nightmare insect-bug-creature, and I guess intellectually I can understand where they’re coming from. Four sets of limbs sprouting from the central CPU column? Maybe those do look a bit like a spider’s eight legs. Maaaybe. But it never even occurred to me before I’d heard it suggested, and I have to seriously force myself to be able to see Jii from that point of view. To me, nothing about Jii is scary. He’s like an animated eight-boughed tree or a sea anemone. As far as I’m concerned, there is no one and nothing more beautiful, and there never will be.

I’m not much of a party animal, which is fine. The quiet life suits me. I’m typically winding my day down with a nice jerk off session before bedtime around the same time as the average joe is pouring his first cup of morning joe, if you know what I mean, and this particular morning was no different.

I envisioned Jii’s eight deft, skillful hands all over me—and inside of me—and came. The soft, needy moans falling involuntarily from my mouth were the only sounds to be heard in my cramped studio as I jizzed all over my stomach.

I’m a very sound sleeper, in case you were wondering.

* * *

“Heya. Mind if I hang?”

Jii’s hands never stopped. “Whatever you wish, Naoto.”

I usually try to spend my lunch breaks with Jii. The other guys in after hours security think I do it because I don’t like them very much, but that’s not true. It’s just that I like Jii way, way _more_. As usual, he was working separate terminals with two of his sets of hands, while the third set managed paper copy records for internal auditing purposes and the fourth set assisted the other three when needed and kept Jii’s workspace neat and tidy when not. I’m not one for poetry or anything, but that’s what I think Jii’s eight hands are—poetry in motion. An intricately choreographed interpretive dance performed in secret and exclusively for me.

I sighed and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the counter as if I were engaged in earnest conversation with Jii. My dick was stiffening in my pants, and I worked my hips subtly to take advantage of the rough friction of clothing against flesh. I kept my eyes fixed on Jii’s eight industrious hands as they tapped and flew over keyboards, fanned out piles of paper, and flicked and swiped at errant dust and grime. In my mind, those hands weren’t working premier corporate accounts; instead, they were working _me_.

I sucked Jii’s fingers into my mouth, while a hand twined itself in my hair and yanked my head back. Some of Jii’s other fingers pinched and twisted my nipples, while another set of hands held me steady me at the waist. Fingers pulled in on my dick and probed the slit, while other fingers slid down my ass crack and circled my furled hole. They were teasing me . . . but not for much longer. “Yeeesss,” I imagined myself hissing as those fingers lubed me up and began to penetrate me.

The trick to ass play is taking it slow. And Jii, scrupulous synthetic being that he is, knew how to take it slow. First one finger, slightly crooked, angled towards my prostate gland. Then a second, to join the first. A pause, to stretch me further and test the depths to which I am comfortable. I moaned and sucked harder on his hand; the rest of Jii’s hands, independent of one another, were still working the rest of me over, too. I turned my focus to the one playing with my dick, jerking me off with purpose now—and then I gasped, the breath knocked out of me, because suddenly one of Jii’s eight magnificent hands—the whole hand plus its five fingers—was inside of me and doing things no human hand could do to a man _—_

“Jii—!” I whimpered. I was close, so, so fucking _close—_

“Yes, Naoto?”

My wristphone flashed violet and played its customary cheerful, seven-second tune. I started; the jingle meant that lunch break was over. I squirmed a bit, trying to reposition my erection so that it wouldn’t be quite such an obvious bulge in my pants.

“Looks like it’s time for me to get back to work,” I remarked as casually as I could. I couldn’t tell him. I just _couldn’t_.

“Yes, it is. Take care of yourself, Naoto,” Jii replied. His four sets of hands never paused, never wavered.

Jii had made a good point. I figured I’d better head over to the restroom and, uh, relieve myself properly before returning to my post at Security Services HQ.


End file.
